


The Old Gods are Dead

by Mustachiest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, It will take a few chappies before Harry appears but worry not, M/M, Slow Burn, like really slow ass burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 04:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13450740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mustachiest/pseuds/Mustachiest
Summary: Beautiful people are revered, put on a pedestal untouchable to those who do not bear the same visage. They are the old gods and goddesses taken mortal form, their divinity eminent in their exquisite beauty and grace-worshipped by those mortals whom fail to compare.And for those who fail the standards? It is simply a fortunate enough thing for beauty to be a flame fickle enough to be imitated by those who do not possess the same warmth.---A story about a misanthropic genius, a disfigured puppeteer and a (figurative) angel with green eyes.





	The Old Gods are Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Any resemblance between real life and events in the story are merely coincidences unless it is deliberately throwing shade to something stupid.
> 
> No beta.

**.The Old Gods are Dead.**

P R E L U D E

/noun/

_1.an action or event serving as an introduction to something more important_

_2._ _an introductory piece of music, most commonly an orchestral opening to an act of an opera, the first movement of a suite, or a piece preceding a fugue._

* * *

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle was faring through the sea of orphans with difficulty. All he could feel were the sharp elbows of gaunt children and the sweltering heat as they were being taken to the local church to pray to the Catholic God that Tom himself barely believed in anymore.

It was hard, to believe in someone, much less an unknown omniscient entity that apparently ruled over every single being on the planet, especially if you are an orphan boy who has only known of cruelty, more so if you are Tom Riddle.

"Freak's starin' to space again," said Billy Stubbs.

He's used to these kinds of petty insults. They barely hurt anymore, and the ones that do issue consequences to the poor soul that dared faced his wrath; for he is anything but helpless. Their insults merely slide off him like oil on water for Tom knew, that despite everything, he was better than all of the orphans and the matrons of St. Wool’s orphanage combined.

As if on respose to Billy's statement, an automobile suddenly cuts through the sea of orphans and very akin to how Moses parted the Red Sea, the group was halved as the children avoided the vehicle.

All but one was safe.

After the dust and grime have faded away, Billy Stubbs was seen sitting on his bum on the middle of the dirty street, heaving and shaking like a leaf in autumn. The matrons then rush over to him, eager to placate the sobbing boy. 'He was almost hit by the automobile' he said repeatedly.

"Pity it didn't actually happen," he mumbles under his breath.

 Amy Benson, with her dark floppy hair and beady black eyes, whipped her head to look at him with a squinted look. Her ugly face distorting into something more sinister. Her chapped lips curled. 

"Freak," she sneered, then ran off to the other orphans to tell everybody that it was his fault that Billy Stubbs was almost run-over by the speeding automobile.

(Oh please, if he had the ability to shape reality in any way he desired, everyone around him would have been kneeling on one knee on absolute _reverence_ 5 years ago) 

Instead of responding (or crying if he was any other child), Tom Riddle looked straight ahead to the general direction of the church as the group began to form once again then joined the other orphans to the mind-numbing pace towards St. Peter's.

* * *

 As the early morning mass goes on, Tom's mind drones into other matters.

He takes time to look at the church itself, as he observes the ornate candle holders and beautiful paintings on the holy walls.

He also takes time to observe other families that frequent the church to validate their devotion to the religion.

They said the church was the place where people can be themselves and not let materials define whom they are or what they are for the only thing that matters is what they are upon the eyes of the Lord, and yet, the separation of social classes was as clear as night is from the day. _“It matters not when a mortal bathes himself upon the holiest of water or clothe himself of the purest of_ silks, _because on the end of the day he is a stain compared to the Lord's grace"_ is the statement that the Pastors preach among the masses and no other sentences could hold any more truth to describe the subtle inner workings of their quaint little town.

The church was divided straight into the center. One side holding the working classes and the other housing the upper echelons of Little Hangleton, neither dare interact with each other out of reverence (working class) or disgust (the socialites).

Before other matters, let it be known that Tom hates the populace. He hates the working class for being mindless sheep, believing and fighting for causes directly fed into their mouth by people of power that do not even _deserve_ their position (one day Tom will be the one in charge and he will turn the tides).

He hates the nobility for being the useless lot they are, stagnant and idle, uncaring on how the world fares, born with a silver spoon up their lotion treated lips, how they function by climbing up a social ladder that has no true destination, Tom hates it all.

In Tom’s young mind, age does not correlate to one’s misanthropy.

No matter how each and everyone preaches themselves to be cleansed of sin, all are still bathed in unseen grime that covers them from head to toe. For Tom knew that even if one seems as if they were a reincarnation of the archangels themselves, every single being in this church has a secret that could cause them to fall from grace.

Cygnus, from the prestigious Black Family, has affairs with fellow sexual deviants in the upper echelons, his loving (naive) wife Violetta Black unaware of any his misgivings.

Theodore Nott III, esteemed heir of the Notts has been seen frequenting suspicious places, and is rumored to be (if he is not already) dabbling in illicit activities, if the state of his physiological state and his rather pathetic attempts to hide his secrets can be any more obvious.

Don’t forget Aurelius Malfoy, in Tom’s observant eyes the poor man has been having affairs with one of the Weasleys, the youngest sibling, Octavius to be exact.

It was almost like Romeo and Juliet, but instead of Romeo Montague being 16 and Juliet Capulet, 13, it was more along the lines of Aurelius Malfoy being 37 while Octavius Weasley, 15.

“Nobles,” Tom thinks, “like to pretend to be the pinnacle of God’s creation when in truth they are nothing different from Cain.”

As Tom scans for more people to psycho-analyze his eyes lands on the Riddle heir.

Viole Demont Riddle, the only son of Thomas Riddle.

He was an enigma in Tom’s eyes. A figure cloaked in mystery as he rarely appears in public, and the reason why is obvious to anyone.

He was pretty.

 .

 .

 .

 .

.

Pretty downright horrifying.

Tom was a very judgmental child but he can become downright cruel when it comes to the boy whom he shares the surname 'Riddle' with.

Viole Demont Riddle had pale, sallow skin that almost look liked scales because of some strange skin disfigurement (Tom reckons its eczema), his nose was incredibly flat that Tom wondered if he was dropped as an infant (face first), and he had a bald head akin to a wrinkly egg.

He wondered how one could be so ugly when both of them are oqf the same age.

The one and only thing that Tom thinks is redeemable from Riddle’s face (?) was his vibrant red eyes. He thinks that it was striking how they looked like the color of blood, how they looked like the _exact_ same shade as his very own.

People say that he is a prodigy.

Viole Demont broke records before he even hit the age of 5. He is saidto be one of the smartest children to ever step on the soil of Little Hangleton (Tom doubts he has even seen what genuine soil looks like, _pampered little shit_ ). He was the golden goose of the nobility.

He was intelligent enough to almost be on Tom’s level.

Keyword: _almost_.

He then stops staring at the other boy for he doesn’t want to be caught, the other children might make another rumor on how he was starting to admire the boy, and God knows that when that happens, he will personally make sure that a mass “suicide” will occur in Saint Wool’s orphanage.

The exact moment he looks away, the mass comes to an end, and Tom readies himself for another mind-numbing walk underneath the sweltering heat.

 

* * *

 

 

_To be continued..._

**Author's Note:**

> I tried making "Voldemort" into a normal-ish name :P. Fuck me with a bag if you don't like it but there ain't gonna be a kid with the name "Voldemort" without getting bullied the fuck out of existence. Also bear with me okay? I'm not a native English speaker. 
> 
> (It's funny how formal the beginning notes are then there's THIS pile of shit [as they say business in the front, party at the back] ) 
> 
> Thanks for reading, constructive criticism is welcomed and loved.
> 
> (Kinda shameless but if any body's interested in becoming a beta please pm me thanks!)


End file.
